


Fly Me To The Moon

by fuzzybatbutts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Torture, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, Gore, Hell, Pain, Torturer Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:18:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzybatbutts/pseuds/fuzzybatbutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is normal for a man to dream of his home, and even the most extraordinary creatures can feel homesick</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly Me To The Moon

When he dreams, he dreams of the stars.

Not just the tiny dots visible from lonely country roads or the large swirls from out at sea no, no so much bigger.

He dreams of nebulas and far off galaxies, so beautiful it is indescribable in words, so beautiful and wondrous it is the thing one can only experience in sleep or on the every edge of madness. For no sane mind can comprehend the sheer awesome of their size nor the secrets they keep locked away in their light, because if they tried their reward would be a straight jacket and a padded room. The deep black emptiness would swallow them like a malnourished man swallows fresh water, they’d get lost in the endless maze because that is how they see it. A maze where once you enter, you are lost, doomed to wander in the hell that is our true sky until your corpse is nothing but frozen dust.

He knows though, oh he knows. It is no maze, but a labyrinth. A labyrinth of planets and red giants and monstrous black holes, but like every labyrinth there is a way out, he knows this to be true because every time he shuts his weary eyes he walks into it. No not walks, he flies, he soars, he streaks across the dark sky and he laughs. 

Laughs at the beauty, the amazing, fantastical sites that so many will never see because they do not have his gift. The gift of wings, made from falling stars and the shadow remains of a black hole after it wore through it’s many long years and finally gave in to time. His father gave them to him as a symbol of pride, all the other children had white or pink or silver, but not him. He was special, his wings proved that. Soft, black down that blended into the sky and could wrap the earth in a warm blanket burst from his back, strong and muscular. A bright halo of shadowy light was affixed to his head as to light the way for his travels, ensuring he’d never lose himself to the darkness of night like so many before him. Eyes that had for many years soaked in star light and watched all of creation form glowed bright blue, allowing him to see into the very heart of anything, for they had seen how everything else was made.

And he used them, used them to explore every inch of his sky, because this creature thought he owned it, and in a way he did. Before the dreaming man the sky was hollow and blank, he changed it so people would never fear to look upon it again for instead of a blank emptiness they saw a rich tapestry. He was the one who hung the great heros images in stars, not the gods of old. He was the one who sent up the monsters who had only done what they were breed to do, he was the scribe of stars, he knew every detail. Humans had thought they were naught but balls of burning gas, but like in so many other things they were wrong.

They were souls.

Lustrous, dancing, gleaming souls that lit up the dark emptiness of space with their life. The dreaming man would stop and speak to them every night as his head drooped, he’d learn their lives and ensure they would never be forgotten by carving them all into his heart. Ask the sleeping one of any star, he’d tell it in a booming voice, recalling it like he had experienced it himself. They served reminder of what happens to the creatures that roamed many planets, death was not something to fear. It was a resting place of great elegance, and that they would never be alone.

When asked, he could tell you how he created most of the things he loved too. How he had taken the eyes of a slain war goddess and mixed them with the remains of a planet that had crashed into the sun to make the first nebula. They decorated the sky with their dancing colours and gave birth to more planets to fill the vast emptiness he had grown to love so dearly. After a long days work his hands would be stained with the remnants of his creations, so he’d take a deep breath and blow them across the sky. The streaks of light would shoot and fly away into the darkest parts of his dwelling, lighting up the blank areas where he’d work on next when he had the strength. 

With their permission, he took the soul stars and swirled them with a frozen ocean to form galaxies. Because his more rough brothers and sisters made water so unpredictable, he enjoyed stepping back and watching them form on their own, curious to see how the water would change the formation even in its solid state. It could take eons for them to be finished, but dreams seemingly last for an eternity, so he had the time to waste. In that time, humans had given him and his family a name, a reward he assumed for giving them something to look at every night. Angels, it was a rather pretty name. 

However it is said in dreams you cannot be hurt, but he knew that was a lie. While he created many things in the sky, the black holes that devoured his treasures were not of his making. His creator, his Father, had not even created them. They were a result of two star crossed lovers who danced across his sky long before he was born, their ferocity tearing holes in the already black space. And since nothing can only lead to nothing, they gobbled up everything in their place to fill their void, including the man who dreamt of stars.

He had flown too close one time, his halo light was devoured by the utter nothingness of the hole, and his brilliant wings reacted to one of their kin and tried to reunite. He fought and kicked until he managed to break free, but the cost was deep white scarring across his lovely wings. Gashes where his delicate plumage would never grow again. This hideous mark hurt him greatly, so much that he screamed. He screamed so loudly and so terribly that planets smashed together and were knocked out of place, stars collided and time for a moment stood still in an effort to hide from him.

He’s hated the darkness ever since. 

 

He loved to dream to visit his sky, but he did so not often enough for sleep came so rarely in this place. People who saw him and listened said he must have been mad to think of such things, but he was not. They tried to say when a person is homesick and suffering they dream about home to escape their current situation, and that is all he was doing. Dreaming and remembering the lost souls he once nurtured, dreaming of creating those gorgeous nebulas as easily as an artist could paint a smile, and he dreamed of the labyrinth that he had never finished. He had been torn away, ripped from his precious sky and dragged to a place so very far away. When he closed his eyes he remembered the universe forming from underneath his fingertips and the joy when it went right.

Castiel missed his home, so he dreamed of it when he could. It was the only escape from the pain.

Pain had become his existence, for he had known nothing but for over a hundred years. His star dust wings were pinned and spread out, soft feathers clipped so he could fly in the labyrinth no more. The light on his halo had died out, choked by the nothing that was his current dwelling, and eyes that had once shone now were dimmed to nearly nothing.

He had created the sky and everything within, but his brother had created the one thing beneath, the one thing Castiel could never touch.

A land called Hell.

Stars falling from the sky found themselves in this place, dragged from their rightful spots and forced into this pit of madness. His sisters in charge of creating many of the things that roamed on his planets lost their charges to this consuming pit, they were not strong enough to resist the pull. Castiel mourned his beloved stars, seeing them so twisted and damaged made his soul ache for he knew each one like family. They took different shapes in Hell, twisted dragons, serpents that towered over all and creatures he didn’t dare name. His brother called these beasts “Demons”. He called them by their real names. 

The reason Castiel was pulled from his sky and forced into this place was because he had been searching for a star, his favourite one. 

Though the star looked no different from any other, Castiel knew its secrets and therefore knew it was the most spectacular of any he had seen. When the star had been a man, the man’s name had been, was, Dean. Dean Winchester, the one who put the world on his shoulders just to save his brother, a boy named Sam. To Castiel his story was the best, an old fashioned tale with damsels, monsters, knights in shining cars. Dean protected the others, made sure they didn’t rise to the skies before their time. Cas often helped Dean when he wasn’t supposed to, gave him extra luck at the gambling tables, helped him avoid cops when he had to steal for Sam, simple things. Over time he didn’t simply like the star, he loved it. His heart fluttered when he got to see him again after a long day, and he overflowed with jealousy when Dean found another girl or the occasional boy to warm his bed at night. 

As soon as someone was born, their star was formed, but it didn’t speak until they died. If Cas wanted too he could look into the star and watch the persons life, and his older brothers often teased him about the amount of time he spent at Dean’s star, but Cas couldn’t and didn’t want to help it.

So when it fell, streaking out of his realm Castiel knew instantly. He screamed loudly, like when his wings had been cut and every soul in the sky trembled again. He begged his brothers and sisters to help him find his lost star, but they all brushed him off and called him mad. 

Castiel had foolishly rushed into Hell, cutting down every being that got in his way despite the fact he knew them all personally. But his fury was worthless and the demons soon overpowered him. Cas had struggled violently and succeeded in killing several on the way to his jail, but demons were many in number and there was only one of him. They dragged him to a room, where they snickered amongst themselves and waited. Bands of leather with runes etched into the fabric were tightened against his wrists and ankles spreading him against a cross in the middle of a dark stone room. There was something suppressing about them, and Cas found he couldn’t use any of gifts to escape. Ropes hoisted his wings up and out, pulling them in opposite direction and burned whenever he tried to move them. 

When a tall fluffy haired man strode in, they all scampered away and Castiel’s heart sunk into his stomach. Dean was no longer Dean as he had feared, now only a monster whose once green eyes could have been formed from one of Castiel’s nebulas, resembled the black holes he feared so much. If he hadn’t spent so much time trying to get help Dean could have been saved, but the delay had cost him yet another star.

“Well hello there angel,” said Dean in a low voice with a hint of laughter, “I wasn’t expecting to see you on my list today, much less the naughty little shit whose going to be taking up so much of my time. I had other plans involving tracking down my darling little brother, but you got in the way of that, so inconsiderate of you.”

Dean circled the room as he talked, using a thin silver blade to pick under his fingernails. “And for that my dear, well, I’m gonna have to punish you extra. Aren’t you a lucky little duck?”

After his little speech, it was made clear Dean was in no rush. Using the knife, Dean cut away at any clothes on Castiel’s body. (A human body was needed to travel to Hell, so Cas had reluctently stolen one called Jimmy) With slow and steady hand Dean traced large patterns on Cas’s bare chest with the blade, but never pressing hard enough to draw much more blood than a fine trickle. Even though each cut was only tiny it stung more than it should have. It had taken an ancient black hole to cause Castiel pain, but the strange silvery blade Dean held caused fire to explode under his skin with each nick. He noticed Cas staring puzzled at his weapon and broke into a smile, “Ah, pain a bit of a new experience for you huh? Well kid this isn’t just your run of the mill pigsticker. Your big brother, Lucifer, he made them for all of your little brothers and sisters before he got chucked down here. Melted down one of your pretty little stars to do it, too. This puppy can kill anything, even the freaks that created it.”

 

When he tired of watching the angel dance from the pain of about a thousand small cuts, Dean lost his grin quickly got more violent. With a single wide swipe he sliced open Castiel’s forearm from elbow to wrist and with slow strokes, cut away at the muscle until the white of a bone showed. Blood poured from the open wound with frightening speed and splashed onto the floor into a large puddle. He laughed in delight as Cas cried out in agony, vomiting from the pain and biting down on his tongue in a failing attempt not to scream anymore. With one quick snap Dean grabbed the bones with one hand and cracked them in two, poking the now limp appendage with his knife like a small child poking a dead frog. It sounded like a wet branch being broken in two and the sound was making Cas feel woozy. “Well I hope you’re a lefty Cas, because otherwise, well you’re rather screwed now aren’t you?”

Dipping his fingers into the blood gushing from Castiel’s ruined hand, Dean drew a warrior stripe under his eyes and smiled. “I wonder if I’m the first to actually get my hands on one of you feathered freaks. We’ve been hearing about you for years, all high and mighty with your wings and your pretty blue eyes. I thought, man, those guys must be serious dicks. I mean, we’ve been torturing souls for years and you never tried to stop us! But now, seeing as how you got caught fifty metres over the fence line, I just wonder if you never had the guts.”

Cas struggled not to pass out from the pain in his hand, despite his brain screaming otherwise. “Dean, what are you doing? What happened to you?”

“First of all, my job. Second, nothing. Cas, demons aren’t some big scary monsters with devil horns and bat wings, nah. We’re just tiny little humans who realized, hey, ordinary morality is only for ordinary people. And the one thing we all are down is, is abnormal. Even you Mr. Starmaker.”  
\--------  
“Fly me to the moon!”

Slice

Another handful of primary feathers fell to the floor. Another round of screams rang out.

“Let me see what spring is like,”

Slice

Bits of flesh are carved from the wing bone. Still more screams.

“On Jupiter and Mars!”

Crack

With the swing of a heavy sledgehammer, the exposed bone shatters like a dropped teacup and Castiel can no longer cry out through the tears and blood streaming down his cheeks. Dean struts around Cas, tapping his feet in rhythm to his song as he belts it out in a deep, off-key voice. This has been going on for months now since every night he unwillingly heals himself, so Dean just has to start right back up in the morning. It’s an unending spiral of pain that Cas can’t escape from no matter how much he struggles. Begging and pleading is only met with a broken rib or a sharp jab to the nose, and if he screams too loudly, Dean will do something even more unpleasant. 

Despite loving the choir of shouts and moans he tore out of Castiel’s throat until it was raw and bloody, if Dean was in a foul mood he wasn’t to make a sound. He had been warned multiple times as the day went on but when Dean took a bone saw to his wings for the first time, he couldn’t hold it down any longer. A cry rose from his mouth as his beloved gifts were destroyed in front of him, the one memory of home he had left was being forcefully taken away from him and he couldn’t even fight back. Hearing this, Dean slapped Cas across the face and gave him a glare that could melt through steel. “Hey Blue-Eyes, I warned you. My head is killing me today and I can’t take your whining.”

His punishment for disobeying was a strip of his own skin cut from his back and tied around his mouth in a makeshift gag. It was absolutely disgusting, tasting the saltiness of his own skin, and he just sobbed quietly while Dean slowly and without much interest, tore out his fingernails one by one.   
\----

Everyday for what was seemingly an eternity Dean would stride in and strip little pieces of Cas away for hours on end before he lost interest. Cas would simply bite his tongue until it ran thick with blood and he would pass out from the lack of air. Only then in the few moments of peace would he be able to ignore the ruin that was his body and fly home again, lost in the endless quiet of his masterpiece. But it always ended with the black hole swallowing him whole and he’d wake up with the blade twisting in his stomach. 

Everyday he’d beg his father for death, and one day it finally came. Dean walked in flipping the knife in his hands and scowling. “Ok pretty boy, here’s the deal. Crowley says we need this room for others and well, frankly you’ve gotten boring. So, I came to say goodbye. I’m gonna miss hearing you scream angel. Any last requests?”

With every last bit of energy he could muster, Cas rose his head and smiled at Dean. “J-just one. Your eyes, can I see them again?”

“You’re seeing them right now, is that it?”  
Cas shook his head, “No, your actual eyes. They remind me of something I made a long time ago and since I’ll never see it again, your eyes are the closest thing to it. I modeled it after them actually, they’ve labeled it the Wreath nebula. But I named it Fetharsi, my language for Peace. I couldn’t speak to you, so it was the closest thing I had. Whenever my siblings drove me crazy or I’d had bad day, I’d just stare into it for hours.”

Dean squinted at Cas like he was trying to see if he was kidding. After a few awkward moments, he sighed and flicked his eyes back to their true colour. 

His breath hitched in his throat, and a single happy tear fell down Castiel’s cheek as he saw the one things that reminded him of home again. The shades of green that swirled in Dean’s eyes moved exactly like his artwork. 

Raising his head, Cas bared his throat and made peace with himself for the last time. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, but I’ll still watch over you Dean. I’ll make sure there’s always a spot in my sky for you, right beside your mothers and your brothers. Goodbye Dean.”

Even after the cold metal bit deep into the throat of the angel and the floor was covered in a sticky red, Castiel was smiling. He was going home, and he knew he’d see Dean again. Even if it was from above, he’d do his best for the damned soul. Every soul deserved a spot in his sky, especially one so beautiful and that would shine so brightly.

**Author's Note:**

> Ehem
> 
> So this was the result of me discovering Frank Sinatra, me getting a new telescope, and way to many late nights of me stargazing and freezing my butt off. I've always had this headcanon of Castiel where he was the angel who created the stars, and that he flew across space on his stardust wings until he found Dean. Dean would take over the role of the North Star when he died because he always wanted to point people in the right direction, and Cas would worship that star. 
> 
> Gods I need sleep.


End file.
